Rabbi Gabrielle's Defiance

by Roger Herst

  Gazing down the marble steps, Gabby spied Marc Sutterfeld arrive at the designated position nine minutes early. As stipulated he was in a yellow and brown T-shirt and short khaki cargo shorts, revealing stumpy, hirsute legs. Black leather street shoes and dark socks were a dead giveaway that he had little interest in outdoor sports and did not possess sneakers or running shoes.

  She trotted down the stairs, advancing quickly from his blind side. "Mr. Sutterfeld," she declared before waiting for him to turn. "You might remember me from Congregation Ohav Shalom. I met you briefly in the hallway before the deposition of my colleague, Rabbi Asa Folkman. I'm Rabbi Gabrielle Lewyn."

  His eyes widened in disbelief and for an instant he was nonplussed. "I was expecting to meet someone else," he stammered, "a man."

  "He's not coming," she replied. "You spoke with my secretary. I came in his place."

  He ascended two steps to be at eye level with Gabby, but she moved back to maintain the psychological advantage of height. "This is highly irregular, Rabbi. You're a defendant in the Morgenstern litigation. Communication between us should go through your legal counsel. This meeting shouldn't happen."

  When he ceased moving, she did. "You're absolutely right. This meeting shouldn't happen and, in a special way, I hope it doesn't. You'll know why when you hear what I have to say. I believe it will have bearing on the resolution of Morgenstern tragedy. If you don't mind, let's walk around. I think better when in motion. I know your office is nearby and it would be better if we're not noticed in each other's company. I've been around this city long enough for people to recognize me, even, I'm afraid, in my running clothes."

  He had no objection so they began moving south on First Street, in front of the Library of Congress. From her book bag she retrieved a file on the Morgenstern case, extracting the Fire Marshal's Report and displaying it before Sutterfeld's eyes. "No doubt you have studied this document very carefully, Mr. Sutterfeld.".

  "Of course. I can almost quote it by heart. A fire report is the bible for people in my line of work."

  "Then you can tell me what the Marshal said about the probable cause of the fire that took Janean's life and disfigured young Tybee?"

  "Candles from a Chanukah menorah."

  "And why did the Marshall come to that conclusion?"

  Sutterfeld was uncomfortable answering rather than asking questions. The role switch stirred his adrenalin, but the rabbi's question was easy enough and fortied his client's case. "It was encrusted with melted wax. In the heat of the fire, the candles melted before they could burn down normally. But a rapid melt down leaves unburned wax residue."

  She sensed the surge of power lawyers speak about when interrogating a witness. "And in your judgment, could the Marshal have made an error in this judgment?"

  "Yes. But he's a trained professional. He understands how fires get started."

  "Would you maintain the same confidence in his judgment if you learned that he misunderstood a simple fact about Chanukah? Suppose he didn't know that on the evening of the fire, it was the first night of Chanukah when only two candles are burned, not the eighth night, when we kindle nine candles?"

  Sutterfeld's stride slowed for just an instant, before resuming at the previous pace. "All that surplus wax didn't come from two candles," he declared. "I've personally examined it at the laboratory."

  "So have I. Do you know whose menorah it was, Mr. Sutterfeld?"

  "Rabbi Folkman's. We've established that fact in deposition. He said it belonged to him."

  From the file, she pulled out the photo of Asa in his study with his menorah sitting behind him on the bookshelf. She stopped walking to position it squarely in Sutterfeld's view. "This snap was taken a full two years before my colleague loaned his menorah to the Morgenstern girls. There's a date on the back stamped by Kodak. That's the development date, incidentally, not the date for the manufacture of the photographic paper. You'll note that in the photo the menorah is also crusted with wax, like that found by the Fire Marshal. The wax residue that the Marshall discovered did not come from this year, but was an accumulation from previous years, God only knows how many, but by the looks of this photo, quite a few. Obviously, Rabbi Folkman failed to clean it and let the unburned stuff build up from year to year. He's a wonderful rabbi but not what you would call a tidy person."

  Sutterfeld's heavy breathing turned into a pant. His eyes glowered behind thick-rimmed glasses. She gave him time to absorb the implications of this fact.

  "Well," he eventually huffed, "the Marshal's explanation is still the best explanation for the fire. Two candles on the first night of Chanukah could have started the inferno. Unless you have a better cause."

  "I do," she was blunt, almost condescending. From the folder came her Polaroid pictures of the Sabbath candlesticks taken at the Forensic Laboratory. "You might not recognize this, but it was among the artifacts removed from the fire site by the Marshal. The first night of Chanukah happened to fall on a Friday night, when Jews first light two larger candles not to honor the Maccabees but the Sabbath. I examined this Sabbath candlestick, which belonged to the Morgensterns and not Rabbi Folkman. Look at it carefully because you'll note that the silver lip is bent upward. In a typical Jewish home, silver candlesticks are not only ceremonial, but also decorative and are often prominently displayed. In all my years in the rabbinate I've never seen a Jewish family display a defective candlestick, such as this. Any silversmith could have easily repaired the dent by tapping the lip back into place. So I reckon it must have fallen and gotten smashed on the kitchen floor."

  "Of course. Lots of things fall during fires," he trumpeted, looking for an edge.

  "But this candlestick must have fallen before the fire blazed. What you can't see in the picture is what you can observe in the Lab. There's no carbon dust in the crease where the lip was bent. I'm no forensic expert, Mr. Sutterfeld, but that tells me it fell before the fire not after it. And since a tall silver candelabra is more unstable than Rabbi Folkman's stout menorah which has a much lower center of gravity, I'd say this candle's a better candidate for starting the fire than the menorah."

  "That's mere speculation, now isn't it?"

  She wrinkled her forehead and curled her lips, almost pouting. "Of course, this isn't absolute proof. But it is a plausible explanation for what happened. It's at least as plausible as the hypothesis that the fire was caused by the menorah. But what's central here is, if true, it exonerates Rabbi Folkman."

  "Now there's a grand leap of faith if I ever heard one!"

  "I beg your pardon, it does!" she was equally sharp. "Rabbi Folkman never trained the Morgenstern girls about lighting Sabbath candles. Never. We don't know who instructed the girls about them. Possibly a teacher in the Religious School. Maybe their parents. We just don't know. What is clear is that Rabbi Folkman only instructed the girls with regard to the menorah. And the menorah most likely didn't cause the fire."

  Sutterfeld remained silent, turning over Gabby's observations in his mind. When she turned back in the direction of the Supreme Court, he failed to raise further objections. His hands remained firmly embedded in the pockets of his shorts and she could see his eyes darting about, but the rebuttal she expected did not come.

  Near the Court steps, he halted. "Who have you shared your observations with?"

  On this matter, she knew to be in dangerous territory. "Nobody, at this moment," she told a small fib, thinking of Chuck Browner. "I'm perfectly willing to speak with the Fire Marshall and Dominion Mutual, but that might not be necessary – depending upon what your clients wishes to do. If the insurance company will meet Tybee's long-term medical and educational needs why drag this matter into court? After all, my observations are mere speculation, isn't that right?"

  From his throat rose a slurping gargle, unattended by coherent words.

  "Will three days be enough time for you, Mr. Sutterfeld? I think that's an appropriate interval before I share what I've found."

  "Can I have your pi
ctures of the candlestick and the menorah?"

  "I thought you'd ask. I brought photocopies of both. They're not as clear as the originals, but should serve your purpose. If necessary, I can have duplicates made."

  "I can reach you at Ohav Shalom, I presume."

  "Absolutely. But I hope what won't be necessary. As you pointed out before, I'm a prospective defendant in the case and communication should take place through counsel for Dominion Mutual or Ohav Shalom. I can't think of a reason why our paths should cross again, Mr. Sutterfeld. As far as I'm concerned, I just came down to the Mall for an evening jog. The sun was warm as it settled down over the Potomac. The Capital is always inspiring, don't you think? Good luck, Mr. Sutterfeld."

  She cut away sharply jogging west on Constitution Avenue. After a good hard run and heavy perspiration, she caught the Metro at the Smithsonian Station.

  Once Ohav Shalom released Asa Folkman from his contractual responsibilities, Gabby suggested a going-away reception in his honor. Many congregants were unenthusiastic because they blamed him for legal morass with the Morgensterns, though none accepted the prosecution's claim of professional negligence. They accepted gradations of responsibility and in this matter Ohav members seemed to be distributed along a bell-curve. For the honoring festivities, Cantor Blass volunteered to assemble a musical program, featuring Asa's musical contributions to the synagogue's liturgy. Gabby invited Asa's admirers to speak about his contributions to the Jewish community in Washington.

  Asa's duties shifted immediately to Gabby and she found herself once again working longer hours. As she has done in the past, she medicated her personal sadness with hard work, though day by day the acute pain over Kye diminished. The peaks and valleys of her emotional curve slowly flattened out. Healing, she knew, to be a long and slow process, during which some days her heart felt shattered and others, strong enough to cope.

  In ninety-seven emails, she dispatched to yeshivas in Jerusalem seeking Kye, she hid her gender by signing Rabbi G. Lewyn. Yes, her rabbinic title might elicit extra attention from Orthodox yeshiva directors, but they were unlikely to respond, much less recognize, a female rabbi. The fact that Kye knew her whereabouts and could communicate whenever he chose dampened her optimism. By not availing himself of the opportunity he sent a clear message about their relationship. No doubt he would prohibit yeshiva authorities from answering queries about his presence. She was utterly surprised when the following email showed up in her mailbox from Yeshiva Shomer-Mitzvot in the Jewish sector of Old Jerusalem.

  Dear Rabbi G. Lewyn,

  We wish to respond to your inquiry regarding Mr. Kye Naah who is studying with us on a daily basis. I am told he boards with a group of older students and has recently moved into private quarters somewhere in East Jerusalem. We do not have his current address, but you might write to him with this email address and we'll forward it. B'Shalom.

  Rabbi Yitzack Rozan, Executive Secretary, Yeshiva Shomer-Mitzvot, 22 Rehov Sholomo Alcazi, Jerusalem.

  The thought of catching a plane for Israel obsessed Gabby. It was an impulsive idea, but then, she asked herself, what had this love-sick girl got to lose? Were she not fully encumbered with rabbinic duties, that's exactly what she would have done. But with Asa preparing to leave for California this fanciful flight was impossible.

  Writing a return email that might be read by all and sundry in the yeshiva had no appeal. An airmail letter would take at least a week to reach Kye. She decided to refrain from personal remarks and continue to hide her feminine identity. In the end, she typed out a simple message.

  To Kye Naah,

  You are probably surprised to hear from me. It took a little sleuthing to learn your whereabouts. Please tell me why you left for Israel and give me some idea when you are planning a trip home.

  Shalom, Rabbi G. Lewyn.

  Since he had failed to contact her, she counseled herself not to expect a reply. Kye obviously wished to keep his reasons for studying in Israel secret. It took an act of courage to punch a simple button on her computer and dispatch her message into cyberspace.

  Two days later, his reply appeared in her mailbox.

  Gabby,

  I'm so happy to hear from you. The Holyland is marvelous, but it has never been so wonderful as when your message arrived and I felt you next to me. I have not contacted you for a reason. When you told me you couldn't run for Congress, I knew it was a major turning point in my life. I needed to do some heavy-duty thinking. I had worked years for Politicstoday. I was angry with you because I believed you could have helped me save it. But the truth lay elsewhere. Politicstoday was terminally ill well before we met in West Virginia and it was wrong to have blamed you for its demise. When I was able to acknowledge that, I began to see you through different eyes

  In my mind's eye, I see you with the Bread of Affliction standing before television cameras. We can dream all we like, but facts cannot be avoided. It took me weeks to fully acknowledge that you're a teacher, not a politician. You knew that all the time. I didn't.

  This brought me to another insight, even more important. I had lost Politicstoday, but I didn't want to lose you, too. One day I stripped down to my birthday suit and stood stark naked before a full-size mirror. What I saw is what you already know. We are as different in the flesh as we are in the mind and spirit. I'm a naturalized American computer geek from Korea with my foreskin in place. You were born an American Jew. How many people have a faith as strong as yours and a heritage as rich? Before the mirror I asked myself how in God's name I might hold on to you for anything more than a passing fling. Your people would never accept a Korean Baptist as anything more than a temporary anomaly.

  I once believed that science and technology could eventually solve all human problems. One by one, people problems seem to disappear with the invention of some new technology. My feelings for you defy this belief and I am stymied. While I would love to hold you tightly against me, I knew we both needed time to sort out the mess I brought about. I can only imagine what horrors Gina McQuire's profile brought you.

  Meanwhile, I'm in the process of selling the remaining database and patents on the linking technology. The good news is that there are sufficient assets to pay off my creditors. I often pledged that they would be made whole and that is only weeks away now. The true losers will be my sacrificing and loyal associates who labored so hard to make this go. Fortunately, most are young enough to start again. I am gratified that none feel cheated. As far as I know not a single one has responded to a coterie of hungry lawyers seeking participation in a class action lawsuit against me. When I'm depressed I just tell myself that the Phoenix will rise again.

  If you've got it in your heart, Gabby, wait for me.

  Much love, Kye

  She clicked the Reply button to type a response, but her arms became victim to violent trembling. However much she tried to master this shaking, she could not. Her fingers could do no more than peck wildly at the keyboard, sending gibberish onto the screen. Yes, I will, yes I will, yes I will she repeated out loud. But communicating that to Kye was impossible until her imprisoned nerves returned to normal.

  At Asa's going-away party, Anina Norstrom was elegant in a blue taffeta gown that sloped from her shoulders in a manner boarding on the seductive. Coifed hair and a simple strand of pearls hung from her long, slender neck. She deflected the conversation when the subject of Asa's move to California came up, though Gabby had often heard her refer to the Golden State as "nirvana for second-chancers and yahoos."

  Four musicians played excerpts from A Jazzman's Sorrow. By now, all present had heard portions of this work and had come to expect its syncopated rhythms. When applause filled the audience, Reuben Blass clapped his hand against the musical score to make certain the composer received acclaim along with the musicians. Asa, as always, remained mystified by fame. For the occasion he had written a new etude for the synagogue's massive pipe organ, accompanied by a guitar player and flutist. Gabby chuckled to herself. She wondered w
hat these aficionados of good music would think if they had seen their rabbi improvising beside a stage of naked women dancers at Saloon Can Do.

  Anina caught Gabby and whispered into her ear, "I need to talk with you in private. Is there a place where we can go?"

  Stan Melkin was at the microphone asking for attention. Since celebrants felt relaxed and very social, they talked in loud voices. The microphone provided volume that Stan was not shy about exploiting. It took several minutes before voices quieted enough for him to make his announcement.

  "Friends, friends," he held the mike close to his lips and waved his free arm wildly as though trying to attract the attention of a passing boat on the ocean. "I've got some electrifying news to share with you."

  Anina and Gabby postponed their conversation.

  Stan was wild with excitement, "You all know how lawyers work long and odd hours. Associates often burn the midnight candle, so to speak. Two young women on my staff just called on my cell phone to say I had received a fax from Marc Sutterfeld, counsel for the Morgenstern family. They read it to me and I feel the compelled to share the contents with you. This is the gist of the message. Apparently, the Morgenstern family has agreed to accept a sum a little higher than our insurance carrier has offered. It's a lot of money, but far less than Mr. Sutterfeld originally demanded. It's an enormous relief, I can tell you. Tybee Morgenstern will now have sufficient funds for her medical care and special educational needs. I'm sure many of you who have expressed deep sympathy for the family will be relieved."

  Gabby excused herself from Anina and elbowed through the circle to engulf Asa, then surrounded by a coterie of female admirers, in an unabashed hug. Few had seen her express such affection for him in the past and were puzzled. She knew few understood how much he grieved for the Morgenstern girls. His chief concern had always been that Tybee should never have to worry about money. He hugged Gabby back with equal enthusiasm.